Hard Reality

That's what you signed up for

A few weeks ago, a patient died in our presence during ward rounds. It wasn't the first time it had happened, I've seen that happen quite a bit. Emotions were so high in the female ward that day, her family members screaming—praying her back to life. Medical students just stood quite aloof, watching the medical officer and nurse try all they could to get her heart to start beating again.

Nothing worked. Her heart had stopped.

Now there's a reason this one felt different for me, maybe because I'll soon be the one who has to tell someone that their loved one isn't here anymore, and that scared me to my wits.

I am a very empathetic person. As a child and teenager, I used to cry when other people cried. The pain of others had the ability to wrap tight around me like a cloak, almost choking me. I remember one time we went to condone with a friend of mine who lost her mum and I was crying so much. On our way back, my dad teased me for crying more than the person who was bereaved. I've always felt pain so deeply, and that feeling almost always translated to tears.

Years ago, I tasted grief firsthand. I realized my helplessness even though I cried so many tears.

Months after that, I started to notice a shift. I didn't cry as much anymore. Pain didn't seem to affect me as deeply. It felt like I began to sympathize more than empathize, and it bothered me for a while, because I didn't think it was healthy. I was just always trying to move on, and put myself together and crying started to seem counterproductive. I watched it happen to me in real time and thought, "well boom! There goes my outlet".

The first time I saw a patient pass, I was in 400 level. It was still during ward rounds. We had already seen the patient, documented, and all that shebang, but shortly after, his heart started to arrest. I watched my consultant resuscitate him, and it worked for about 5 minutes, then he was gone. It was really scary because that was the first time I was so close to the reality of how rapidly death occurs. Here one second, and the next you're just not. It's crazy.

But what happened after that? We moved to the next patient. It was wild to me, because hello? Someone just died. The centre of someone's universe just left them alone here. Why are we going on like nothing happened?

Don't get me wrong, my consultant was very kind to the family members present. He offered his condolences and all. But we still continued the rounds. I was a new clinical student, so I was stunned. It felt insensitive. The body hadn't even been taken out of the ward but we still continued.

I will never forget what my consultant said to us at the end of that ward rounds.

"You do your best for all patients under your care. Unfortunately some will die, and there's no time for you to get yourself together. When your patient dies, you still have to show up for the ones waiting to receive your best."

After hearing that, I grappled with my career choice.

Do I still want this job?

This thing we're doing, is it healthy?

I still ask myself these questions to this day.

A part of me felt and still feels like I'm losing my humanity, becoming a robot— especially in the way I handle pain. It's hard… incredibly hard.

In my experience so far, I've learnt to give doctors grace, and I think it's important everyone learns that. Sometimes I read and I hear conversations and it feels like we expect doctors to be superhuman, because hey... "That's what you signed up for". I for one can tell you that when I was filling my jamb form, I wasn't like "Yay, I'll get see people die everyday". That's absurd to think. That may be the reality, but no one wants that. Be more empathetic to your doctors. That's all I'm able to say for now.

It's been a hard day.

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I started writing this weeks ago but I couldn't bring myself to finish it. It still isn't finished to me but whatever.

Thank you for reading.